When planning a special meal, you – the consummate host that you are – would usually try to make sure that all tastes are catered for and that there is something for everyone: a big, crowd-pleasing centrepiece, the side that only your best friend loves and another for everyone else, and not too much chilli, though with extra hot sauce on the table, because there will always be one person who needs it. In a restaurant, that’s even trickier, because you don’t know the guests, but you do want to make sure there is something to tempt and please every person who comes in, and that you can accommodate the likes and dislikes of many people, not to mention allergies and dietary requirements. It’s a balancing act that we quite enjoy – coming up with a menu that reads and eats well is very satisfying.

There is one night of the year, though, that requires the exact opposite, when you plan a meal not to please a crowd, but to home in on the palate of just one person: namely, your own valentine. You’d think this would be easier, because you need to know what only one person likes, but the stakes are quite high. Do you know your partner well enough to cook them their perfect romantic meal? Do you know their secret culinary desires? This is a situation in which all bets are off – there are no rules and no shame. Is a pepper steak or a Greggs steak bake the way to your lover’s heart? Tender tuna belly sashimi or a scoop of tuna mayo on a hot jacket potato? Homemade pasta with lavish gratings of truffle and aged parmesan, or spaghetti hoops on toast with lashings of Worcestershire sauce?

This is as intimate as it gets. You need to know the person, and no amount of generic advice can help you: oysters and champagne? Not a bad shout, unless your valentine, as mine is, is allergic to bivalves and gets a migraine from wine.

So this year, my wife, Sarit, and I are running a little experiment: we are each devising a menu that we think the other will love – a canape, starter, main and dessert that we think will make the other weak at the knees, though neither of us will know what the menu is until the day. Then we’re hosting a supper club at Honey & Co on 14 February, where our guests will be presented with our two menus, and will be able to alternate courses according to their preferences. I wonder what she will cook for me, but if there isn’t a chocolate dessert, then our marriage is in serious trouble. I don’t want to give too much away, but Sarit’s favourite dessert is an Marks & Spencer trifle. Let’s see if I can top that – I do have a make-your-own trifle for which you can change the fruit and flavours as the year goes by.

One thing I am certain of is that we’d both be very happy to have popcorn on the sofa on Valentine’s Day – but it needs to be good. For the perfect stovetop popcorn, cover the base of a pan with a thin film of vegetable oil, put in two corn kernels and set the pan on a high heat until they pop. Take it off the heat, quickly add enough kernels to cover the bottom of the pan, top with a tight-fitting lid and shake the pan (yes, you read that right) for 30 seconds (count!), then put it back on a high heat. You will soon hear the kernels popping and, when they stop, tip the popcorn quickly into a bowl, season with salt and whatever else you like, and dig in.

The art of love | For romance on a grand scale, no one beats the Mughals, who built the Taj Mahal. See their art and treasures in an incredible exhibition at London’s V&A museum, itself a grand monument to royal love.

Fizzy logic | What you drink on 14 February is just as important as what you eat – our blow-the-budget bottle for the summer has been Renegade Urban Winery’s Crystal. We’ve got a bottle left and it’ll suit the night nicely – it’s pink, it’s sparkling, it’s made in London by lovely people and it is utterly delicious. For a deeper dive on what to drink at any time of the year, there is Dan Keeling’s book Who’s Afraid of Romanée-Conti, which I’ve been dipping in and out for a few months. I always come away with a little buzz.

Cosy dinners out | We try to go to new restaurants as often as we can. Sometimes we like it, sometimes we don’t, but very rarely do we go back. Yet we have been to Cloth in central London twice in as many months, and are a little bit in love: friendly welcome, cosy corners, low lights, candles, interesting wine list and straight-up delicious food.